Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (6 page)

The
events surrounding my birth, as Vladimir insists on calling it, are
still hazy for me. Some clarity returned once I saw my slaughtered
family. Other memories have yet to resurface.

There
were teeth marks upon her throat and Adela’s blood upon your
lips
,
a voice whispers in my mind. I shake my head and turn my back on the
two men.
No.
I could never have done such a monstrous thing.

I
ride in silence as the miles pass by. I have lost all bearings or
calculation of how far we have come and am unsure of how much farther
we must go. Lucien and Vladimir never seem to tire, though as the sun
rises and the heat melds with the land, I begin to feel lethargic. My
head lolls in time with the spinning of the wooden wheels. My eyes
droop with exhaustion and I give way to the pain in my ankle for a
time.

My
eyelids flutter open and I instantly sense danger. My arms and lap
are barren. I bolt upright in search for the babe yet find that it
has vanished.

“Where
is he?” I run my hands in a frenzy along the straw-covered
floor beside me yet come up with nothing more than splinters buried
deep into my palms.

“He
is gone.”

I
stiffen at the sound of a new voice and realize I am not alone in the
back of the cart. A woman, with stunning waves of scarlet hair and a
tiny button of a nose, sits across from me. Her skin is paler than a
winter snow and her full lips are the color of freshly spilt blood.
Metal chains drape about her neck and wrists, tinkling as she slowly
licks her slender fingers.

I
stare at the droplets of blood that cling to her nails and feel my
stomach fall away. “You killed him.”

A
wide grin stretches across her face and her green eyes narrow in such
a way that it reminds me of a cunning mousing cat that once lived in
my father’s barn. “His fate was already sealed. I only
helped speed the process.”

“You
wretched woman,” I spit at her and toss the handful of hay that
I cling to at her. My chest rises and falls with anger, yet I
instantly subside at the raucous laughter from the front of the
wagon. The woman’s eyes twinkle with delight and she leans
forward to speak.

“How
delightfully naive she is, Vladimir.” She reaches out to trail
a single fingernail down my exposed leg. I yank it back under the
protection of my dress. She grins. “We shall have much fun with
her.”

Vladimir
tsks and shakes his finger at her over his shoulder. “This one
is not for playing, Alamesia. She is my new wife.”

Alamesia
hisses as she recoils. “This is the girl? Surely you jest.”

“No.”
Vladimir’s tone is suddenly laced with ice. “I never
jest.”

I
watch as Alamesia grasps her mistake and pleads forgiveness for her
misstep. Gone is the woman’s haughty confidence, replaced with
simpering fear. Vladimir appears dispassionate to her apologies.
However, Lucien speaks with calm reason and my husband finally
relents. When Alamesia finally looks to me again, I notice she waits
for Vladimir to turn forward before she casts a contemptuous glare in
my direction, as if it were my fault she incurred Vladimir’s
anger.

I
shall avoid this woman in the future,
I
silently vow as I turn to watch the trees as they pass, feigning a
disinterest that is far from the truth. From the edge of my vision, I
note the rigidity of Vladimir’s shoulders. Lucien’s tense
grip on the reins feels as stifling as the cold silence from my
riding partner.

Does
everyone fear Vladimir? My father informed me when Vladimir solicited
my hand in marriage that he was lord of a castle. He had failed to
mention that Vladimir is also the executioner of any who irk him.

The
sun becomes blistering as the afternoon wanes, and I seek solace in
the sparse shade my shawl can provide. Alamesia glowers at me as she
is forced to endure the unseasonable heat without any covering.
Neither Lucien nor Vladimir speaks of it. However, I notice the pace
of the horses increases.

Not
long before sundown I spy light up ahead. I press my palms into the
floor of the wagon and crane my neck to see.

Tall
torches, the height of a man, stand on either side of the road,
winding through the forest and up a hill. I peer through the
darkening woods and notice more light through the trees. The terrain
slopes upward as the horses begin to lean into their steps. Their
harnesses jangle as they attack the incline.

Bits
of hay tumble from the back of the wagon as I clasp onto the
clapboards for support. I gnash my teeth at Alamesia as she shifts
and connects solidly with my ankle, merely winking back at me. The
throbbing pain does little to alleviate my curiosity as I turn once
more to the view.

The
mountains rise up around us and a chill rides the evening air. It
feels blissfully cool against my skin as I draw back the hem of my
shawl. The trees have begun to shed their leaves, cushioning our
path. I catch glimpses of white stone and red wooden shake shingles
as we turn one bend and begin up another.

A
few minutes later, the trees fall away and I am enraptured by the
sight before me. Castle Bran is no small feat of modern architecture.
It rises above me to greater heights than I have ever glimpsed. Far
greater than the church where I said my vows on the previous night.
Before it burned to the ground, it was as the largest building in the
town.

Castle
Bran gleams like an impenetrable fortress atop the hill in the fading
sunlight. It steals away my breath. “It is beautiful,” I
whisper to myself.

“Beauty
is only a fool’s disguise,” Alamesia mutters darkly,
although I notice she too is captured by the moment.

Vladimir
turns in his seat to face me. “Welcome home, my dear.”

At
first, I struggle to comprehend what it is that I see, yet as we draw
near to the gates, I realize the poles lining the top of the castle
walls are actually spears with severed heads impaled upon the spikes.
Mouths gape in a silent scream of horror. Empty eye sockets are
tilted so it appears as if the dead watch the entrance. Torn flesh
dangles from what was once a neck. Dried blood stains white bone that
protrudes from snapped spines still attached to the heads.

It
is a gruesome sight to behold. I cower back, horrified, as we roll
beneath dozens of men and women. My only consolation is that I do not
see any children.

“Is this your
first encounter?”

I
glance over at Alamesia with growing wariness. However, this time I
see nothing beside curiosity in her eyes. “Yes,” I manage
to find my voice. It is weak, to be sure, yet thankfully present.

She
points to the tall wooden gates as they slowly open, as if on their
own. “There are more within. The great hall once boasted heads
of great bears and lynx. Now they have been replaced by Vladimir’s
greatest conquests. Kings and lords from across the land now perch
upon his walls.”

I
glance up at a head and shudder. “How can murdering a woman be
so great a conquest? There is no honor in this.” I wrap my
shawl about me as if it might somehow protect me from the horrors of
my new home. Nothing could have prepared me for this sight.

“Honor
is determined only by the one taking it,” Lucien says in a
clipped tone. He whistles to the horses and they eagerly attack the
final incline. They bray and dip their heads as the wagon levels off
and we roll through the gates of Castle Bran.

The
doors close behind us. I turn to watch as two men, draped in dark
hooded cloaks, push the giant-sized doors. A wooden beam booms as it
falls into place to seal out intruders, reverberating through my
chest, though no one in their right mind would dare come here
willingly.

Alamesia
bangs on the side of the wagon, her rings giving off a metallic rap
against the wood. When Lucien pulls on the reins, she leaps from the
straw-covered carriage and lands lightly on her feet. With a final
glare cast in my direction, she rises up beside Lucien and whispers
something in his ear before sinking back to the ground and trouncing
off in a flurry of skirts.

“Be
careful with that one, brother.” Vladimir warns. “Many
men have awoken beside her with a dagger at their throat.”

I
catch Lucien’s smile from the corner of my eye. “I am not
most men.”

“Indeed
you are not.” Vladimir claps him on the back and leaps from the
seat. He lands soundlessly and comes around to the back of the wagon.
He holds out his hand to me.

When
I do not accept, his lips press into thin white lines. “I am
not a patient man, Roseline, nor am I commonly forgiving.”

“My
apologies,” I whisper meekly, thinking back on the fright I saw
in Alamesia’s eyes when Vladimir’s tone dropped
similarly. Although terror seeks to root me in place, I know to
refuse would bring far greater pain. “It is my leg. I fear I
shall not be able to move easily.”

He
casts a glance down and frowns at the obvious swelling. My ankle is
double the size and discolored with bruising. “This will not
do.”

He
turns abruptly. “Atticus!”

A
tall, dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes and light stubble along
his jaw appears from an open doorway at the base of the castle. His
steps are controlled and his swagger pronounced. I noticed a slender
sword at his hip and a matching dagger tucked into the top of his
calf-high boot.

“You
have returned,” he calls with an air of exaggerated welcome. He
approaches with his arm outstretched to clasp Vladimir in a familiar
greeting.

“My
lady needs help to her room. See to it that she is mended and
prepared for the feast. I am sure she is weary from her journey.”

Weary
from the journey? Not from being stabbed in the chest, mauled through
the night, and dragged halfway across the country while my family’s
embers still burn?
Bitterness
rises high within my throat, though I swallow it back down as the man
turns to acknowledge me.

“My
lady.” His bow is low and forced. “I had not expected you
so soon.”

“And
when were you to expect her?” Vladimir snaps as the man rises
in a sweeping flourish.

“I
only meant that I presumed you would extend your stay in Brasov,”
he amends quickly. Atticus is a sly one. I can see the cunning within
the depths of his carefully guarded expression. I will have to mind
myself about him. He turns and offers me an abbreviated bow to the
one he offered Vladimir. “Come, my lady. I will see to your
preparations.”

He
scoops me effortlessly into his arms and I am forced to be carried
yet again like an infant. The thought makes me shudder and draws
forth a smile from his lips. “I vow that I will not bite.”

“Why
does that sentiment not bring me any comfort?” I mutter. He
snickers and holds me close to his chest. Close enough to feel the
rigid definition beneath.

“Atticus?”
He turns swiftly, and I see Vladimir marching back toward us. His
face clouds over with barely concealed animosity. “I requested
that you take her to her room. Nothing more. Is that understood?”

Atticus’s
finger flinches ever so slightly against my waist as he nods. “Of
course. I would never think upon doing anything more. I will send
Verity to attend to her more personal needs.”

“No.”
Vladimir shakes his head. For the first time I realize he has begun
to show signs of weariness. Perhaps the journey was more arduous for
him than I originally thought. “Send Emeline. I do not trust
Verity with her.”

“As
you wish.” He turns only after Vladimir spins on his heel and
marches into the castle.

I
do not feel comfortable in this man’s arms. His grip is tighter
than necessary, boasting of an intimacy that I am sure Vladimir would
not approve of. It is difficult for me to focus on my surroundings as
we weave through the darkened interior of the castle.

“Should
I be wary of this Verity?” I ask, counting the steps as we
mount higher into the stone building. The draft flowing down from
above feels delicious against my flushed skin.

He
smiles, though there is a tightness to it that concerns me. “Verity
would toy with you as a cat toys with a meal. She is cruel, though
that description would be fitting for most who live within these
walls.”

I
cast a glance at him. “Even yourself?”

This
time his smile is instantaneous and broad. “Especially myself.”

I
can hear several voices behind closed doors as we pass on the second
floor. However, Atticus does not leave me in one of the spare rooms.
Instead, he begins to ascend to a third floor.

No
sounds come from these heights and my heart rate begins to increase
with doubt.
Why
is he taking me away from everyone else? Does he plan to attack me?
Will Vladimir come if I scream?

I
am surprised by a chuckle that rumbles deep in Atticus’s chest.
I glance up to find him smirking down at me. His sharply handsome
features are dulled by the dim flickering of candlelight at the top
of the stairs. “You look as a little lost lamb being led to the
slaughter.”

“Perhaps I
am.”

His
smile broadens as he ascends a set of stone steps so narrow he is
forced to hold me upright, almost to the point where I am staring eye
to eye with him. I see the slight darkening of his eyes and the
widening of his pupils. His scent shifts and I tense in his arms.

It
is too dark here, too remote. “My husband seems rather
protective of me,” I comment purposefully

Atticus
blinks and nods slowly, his grip loosening minimally as he reaches
the top step. “He always is… in the beginning.”

“And after?”

When
he shrugs, I come dangerously close to his lips. I press down on his
arm as we slip through the narrow doorway into a wide hall and he
concedes, letting me settle back in against his chest, a safe
distance from his lips. “Vladimir has fine tastes in women,
though over time they wane.”